erik, the space out junkie's a kid who's humble, soft spoken, and kind --but if you're one of his closest friends, i guess you'd have known better.
he's a wolf in sheep's clothing and that's that. generally, he'd tell you he's fifty thousand wordings, countless textbooks and a hundred libraries complex to be condensed in such a minuscule edit info box --but this is a blog, nothing's too minuscule for a blog.
he spaces out all the time --hence, the title- and his hobbies include pushing boundaries, shock value, and reinvention. procrastination's his guiltiest pleasure and he shifts paradigms all too well. intellect intrigues him --though too much of it and he's frightened to the point of withdrawal.
he says he's always had an affair with words and he feels that he took it for granted for the longest time, so now that he’s on a quarter life crisis he feels ever so determined to milk whatever art form he could out of it --hence, the blog.

Just like that, I got slapped. It happened in seconds. I pulled a plug. My bitch of a sister had her say, walked out, and nagged all the way downstairs. The devil I call my father got more irked and shouted profanities, most of which I could barely hear what with thoughts racing through my already spinning head. Next thing I knew, he was right in front of me, shouting. That’s when he hit me.

It’s surprising though. He got worked up too much and I was just, I stood there, didn’t even bother looking at him, didn’t even try to appear disgusted, which in so many ways I am. I just stood there, gave a look that said “you done?” “right you are,” and went by pretending to fix my stuff like it was all routine.

That night, I was watching a tv series an officemate gave me a copy of on our flat-screen. I was, I think on the second episode, when he buzzed. I paused the tv, went down, opened the gate, and rushed back upstairs. As he went up, I could tell he was still doing fine despite a brief comment directed to yours truly that well, to me, translated to a condoning of my hedonistic night-out prior, but it was okay because I figured he wasn’t that serious. Then, as I went through some of the episodes, he began ordering chores for me and my sister to do, something we all hated because when he blurts out an order, he wants it done right away, I mean fuck it, there are no exceptions, whatever shit you’re doing, you need to do what he wants pronto.

And so he was starting to get pissed at my sister, because yeah she’s the one who says, “wait lang,” a lot when our dad demands stuff. That’s when my mom came down. She asked our permission to play something on the tv, a project she’s working on I guess, something of which I could care less, I mean, aside from the fact that I had to stop what I was watching. At that point, I wasn’t really that pissed, a bit annoyed maybe, but not too much, that when I got up, I guess a pillow fell? I have no idea. I mean, yeah I did pull out my external hard drive from the flat-screen without bothering to pause it because I’m impatient that way, but I never set out to make dabog. God anu ba, I thought I could just watch it on my computer naman.

Only, that’s not what my dad saw. He was adamant that what I displayed was an act of rebellion, assuming I threw the pillow on purpose, which is downright crazy. To him, what I did was so unforgivable that it set him right off to a mad fit. I hurriedly went to the kitchen to cook rice because they asked me to earlier, but he was still at it, wouldn’t stop bitching and moaning that at that point I was starting to get really annoyed. He went on to say how bastos and unworthy and walang utang na loob his children were. God the things he said, grabe, it was vicious and utterly stupid at the same time. He even told us not to bother going with him as he drives to work on weekdays because he’s had enough of our treachery. That was the breaking point. Money was scarce and I needed to save up bad that his refusal to drive us to work mattered a lot. He was driving me nuts; I just had to get out. When I went upstairs, my fucking room was occupied. My other stupid sister was there, doing a good job at being stupid while using my computer. I had no choice, I wanted to be alone. I had to be alone. I tried asking, but she was being difficult so I pulled the plug out, and that’s when mayhem ensued.

The second my dad went out, I threw all the stuff I was holding, closed all the lights and went straight to my bathroom. I couldn’t breathe. I was lying there, on the bathroom floor, just curled up, rocking myself, thinking, bargaining on why suicide wasn’t worth the effort.

I spent the next few minutes shaking, desperately trying to calm myself, figuring out what to do next, that’s when a thought came up. It was quiet the second I got up. They were all huddled downstairs, which bought me enough time to do what I did next. I took out all the computer plugs, the keyboard, mouse, everything, and had it set-up on my mom and my dad’s room. I owe them money so I hoped the money I paid for the computer would cover for some of it. That and I just, I’m really tired of coming home to the sight of people using it, it’s like I don’t even own it anymore. And I could see it happening again, what they did to my laptop. Like a virus, they used it and it got rusty, accumulated dust, with files and folders in disarray, stuff downloaded, to the point that it just broke down. They were bound to do it to my computer anyway, so I gave it up. Not like I didn’t want it, I mean yeah it’s gonna be tough without one, but it doesn’t matter because right then, I needed peace. And I can’t have that with people barging in all the time to use it, which implies a different set of attitudes I’d have to deal with, too. I mean, it’s just peace I wanted. I’m not gonna stress on how crucial it is for me to perform at work with my A-game. Not even gonna touch on how well off some people are, and how they can afford to get each of their children what they needed and asked for. I’ve had enough. Work, I can manage. Life, I can make do with what I have, and with what the world can give me. But at home, it’s hard enough adjusting to the issues people I live with have, it’s even more stupid for them not to understand how important it is for me to find peace in my own bedroom. If that’s not frustrating enough, then I don’t know what else is.

And besides it’s just a computer. It’s not like I’m sacrificing my integrity or anything. I’ve work to do, thoughts to express, and life to manage, but hey, I’ll work something out. If anything, this just makes me even more determined to get out of this hell-hole if it’s the last thing I do.

It’s just weird I’m no longer fazed by it, surviving this long without anyone recognizing my efforts, patting me on the back or anything. I’ve toughen up in that sense. I’ve learned how to manage my breakdowns. It’s been years since that incident and I’ve held it together by far. And I’m quite happy that I’ve done it without needing any help from therapy or meds. I’m pretty hardcore that way and I’m glad to be, dare I say it, ready to take on whatever shit hits the fan. This stuff matures you—and that’s just about how far I can stretch out this paradigm-shifting thing.

Bouts of inadequacy, hatred and debilitating pain still haunted me that night, of course, but sleep came when I got tired rehearsing spiteful lines for my dad’s eulogy.

(to be continued, or not)

Things I want: a. have the ability to autofellate while I self-flagellate, b. make Kim Von Dall’Armi and Nicolas Rippoll DP that slut Benjamin Godfre, c. a diet supplement that’s guaranteed to make me waif-thin in weeks, and d. my own portrait that gets uglier while I commit sins and don’t age. God I feel drugged.